Just an Itch
by peroxidepest17
Summary: Martin’s just a regular guy.


**Title: **Just an Itch  
**Universe:** Without a Trace  
**Theme/Topic:** N/A  
**Rating:** PG  
**Character/Pairing/s:** MartinxSam, mentions of SamxJack   
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Um, I'm not really sure, since I've only been watching the series out of order. But this probably has a lot of (wrong) speculation on my part, and is completely BSed out of my ass. Apologies.  
**Word Count:** 1,170  
**Time: **2.54 (holy hell)  
**Summary:** Martin's just a regular guy.  
**Dedication:** Skye- LATE LATE LATE Birthday fic, I'm sorry! And you steal my first and probably my only Without a Trace fic. Heh.  
**A/N:** So yeah. I know nothing about Without a Trace except for the very out of order episode reruns I've seen on TNT. So um. Apologies if all my facts aren't straight. Also, I've STILL been watching the Korean drama "Full House" and it frustrates me cuz the asshole gets the girl and the nice guy is left in the dust. Maybe that's playing into this a little.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, though I wish constantly.  
**Distribution:** Just lemme know.

When she smiles at him he knows that she's really, genuinely smiling at him, that in all the world that particular look in her eye is meant for him and no one else.

And when he kisses her he knows he's the only one allowed to do that now, to brush back the hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear while they touch, slow and sweet and with the knowledge that they've both gone through so much just to get here, that in the end, everything about them is all the better for it.

He only sees that expression on her face when it's the two of them alone after all, and looking at her, Martin can convince himself the only time she smiles just like that is for him.

But sometimes—sometimes—when Jack walks into the room and she looks at him—when he walks into a room and _everybody _looks at him-- Martin feels just a little bit strange, a little bit wary. It's like one of those instinctive itches agents who know and have been working in their particular fields of expertise for a long, long time sometimes feel—the call of their instinct. It's his gut maybe, trying to tell him something.

Don't get him wrong, there's nothing about Sam's body language or her expressions that say anything of lingering feelings for their leader—she's really very professional about all of it, very calm. Nothing there to indicate that she still loves Jack as far as Martin can tell. And Jack as always, appears quite dramatically indifferent on the whole issue himself-- ever the all-business, shadowy anti-hero to Martin's regular white bread and 2 milk.

But therein lies the crux, perhaps. The reason behind why his instincts scream warning at him whenever he sees Jack and Sam together (as inevitable as that is considering their jobs).

Because he knows.

Martin knows he's a nice man, hard-working, earnest, honest, devoted. He knows he's a lot of things just like that, cut-and-dry and very all-American—a good old boy because his mother raised him right and his father always taught him about patriotism and duty to one's country and playing baseball in high school, dating good girls, Friday nights at the old burger stand down the street before the big game, anti-communism and Regeanomics.

He's a nice, normal American man who wants his 2.5 children and his house in the suburbs, grilling hot dogs and hamburgers on the porch during the weekends in the summer while the kids play in the yard and Sam chats with the neighbors and tells him what to do, that he's burning the franks and undercooking the beef. It's what he's been raised to want after all—all the things normal people do with their lives when they fall in love.

Martin knows he's a good man.

Martin also knows he's not a great man.

He's not anything special as far as he can tell, looks good in a regular old suit and tie but doesn't have the same kind of presence Danny has when he puts them on, doesn't have the same kind of authority Vivian does just breathing. He knows he can't simply stand and turn in his dramatic jacket and have it flutter out behind him so that it catches everyone else's eye like Jack can naturally do, that at the end of the day he's the "nice work" and "good job" and "go home and get some rest" type of guy instead of "dynamic" or "brilliant" or even "leader material."

And so it's not Sam's fault—will never be Sam's fault—when Martin gets that strange feeling in the back of his mind every time he sees her with Jack, their heads bent over a file together or when they're on the phone with each other for long periods of time again. He knows they're talking about work, that they're exchanging vital information for the case as the clock counts down and nothing more, but it's that thing about Jack—that inherent greatness, that _presence_—that always gets Martin nervous about it. Just a little itch, a twinge in the very far corner of his subconscious. One he can easily ignore of course, but it's there every time, telling him that maybe—_maybe—_he's just a little bit too normal, a little bit too plain.

That maybe he'll never be a great man because he's fated to be regular (he'll never, _ever_ be able to get that dramatic jacket flutter no matter how hard he tries), and in all the movies, isn't it tall dark and handsome who the girl goes for in the end anyway?

Jack and Sam look good together. Dynamic, beautiful, painful, passionate.

And Martin realizes that that's what bothers him the most, ultimately. Scares him the most.

That Sam could look up at any minute and realize she doesn't just want regular anymore— that she'll finally figure out what Martin's known all along.

She deserves better.

She deserves great.

But until that moment comes all he can do is watch; calm that little itch as best he can whenever he feels it and try not to let it dig in deeper until he can't sleep at night. Ignore it whenever it niggles at him to remind him that even though she smiles at him in a way she doesn't smile at anyone else now, even if he's the only one she's allowed to kiss now, he's still just plain old Martin in the end and that will never change no matter how hard he tries.

At any second-- any instant-- that smile could be for someone else, those kisses for another, greater person. The moment she realizes that there's greater things out there for someone like her.

All he can do for now is the best he can, even if it ends up only being "good enough" again and nothing special.

So he tells himself he won't ever make her cry, that he'll take care of her, smile back at her, kiss her, make love to her, laugh with her, talk with her, listen to her, hold her hand. He'll touch her face and tuck long hair behind her ear when he looks at her, tell her he loves her. And all the while he'll know that this is the best he can do until the moment it all ends—but he'll keep fighting the good fight right up until the moment she realizes that all along, he's never been anything great.

He knows he'll never be Jack or Danny or hell, even his _father_, but the things he can promise to be are steady, constant, loving. Someone like her deserves so much more than that, but every one of those things-- all he has to give—is hers.

For as long as she'll have them. For as long as she'll have him.

Beyond.

And really, Martin knows that it's the best a guy like him could ever hope to do.

**END**


End file.
